Collision Course
by yankeebornandbred
Summary: It's Sam's first day of classes. Who knows who he's going to meet? Stanford era. One shot.


Sam takes a deep breath. God, he is trembling all over.

"You're being a moron, Sam," he mutters under his breath.

It isn't as though it's his fault that he feels so damned nervous. Stanford is a big university... and one of the tops. It's the normalcy of what he's doing that really amazes him - he's a college student, for gosh sakes! He's walking to his first class, not worrying about being killed by an angry spirit or mauled by a werewolf, with, wonder of wonders, a Starbucks mocha in his hand and a bag of textbooks hanging from his shoulder. He can't stop grinning like an idiot.

He's early to his class (he didn't even bother to set an alarm last night - he'd been too keyed up to sleep). He figures he can meet the professor before the other students arrive, or if the professor isn't there he can simply get settled.

There it is. The door. _The_ door. He knows he's beaming foolishly all over his face. With slender, quivering fingers, he pushes back his mop of hair, grasps the door handle, and throws it open.

"Ow! Crap!"

There are several thumps as a number of books fall from the arms of the person who had been standing in front of the door. Sam freezes. That is not at all how he had expected to make his grand entrance. Then the person sits up ruefully from the ground and he looses all capacity for thought.

It is a girl... a very pretty girl. She has long, loosely curled blonde hair and brilliant eyes (he doesn't even know what color they are, but they're beautiful). She grins sheepishly at him.

"Oops."

He blinks, and then flushes to the roots of his tousled brown hair.

"Oh, God, I am so sorry! Shit, I'm such a klutz. Let me help you pick up those books."

He bends down to retrieve the heavy textbooks. The girl giggles.

"No, honestly, it was my fault for standing directly in front of the entrance," she says, rolling her eyes self-deprecatingly. "It was bound to happen."

She takes the hand he offers and pulls herself up, dusting herself off in the process.

"You're awfully early," she remarks, taking her books from him.

He shrugs.

"I could say the same for you."

"True," she concedes. She grins, her cheeks dimpling. "I'm Jessica Moore, by the way."

He hurriedly shifts his cup of coffee to grasp her hand.

"Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Winchester like the rifle?" she asks, her eyes twinkling (they are blue, he sees now, a lovely grayish blue like the rolling waves of the West Coast - how fitting).

"Like the rifle," he smiled back.

They just stand there, grinning at each other, for several minutes before breaking into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

"Sorry," says Jessica, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I must be totally weirding you out. I should probably start a conversation like a normal person."

"Want to talk about the weather?" he teases. It's funny how comfortable he feels around her already. She just emanates this aura of friendliness. He isn't even tempted to test her.

"Oh, stop that," she grins. "So what are you taking here? I'm Pre-Med."

He pauses for a second and swallows. Talking about his aspirations has never ended well. The silence lengthens and a small furrow appears on Jessica's brow.

"I'm a... I want to be a lawyer," he confesses quickly, stuttering a little. He scratches the back of his head nervously. "So... yeah... I'm in Pre-Law."

To his surprise, her eyes light up.

"Really?" she exclaims. "That's so cool! It's a great plan. I heard that Pre-Law is pretty difficult to get into here at Stanford. You must be smart."

Somehow, the way she says it makes it sound admirable to want to become a lawyer. He is in a state of mild shock.

"Well, thanks," he says finally.

"This," she says, "is where you're supposed to say that you think I must be clever, too, for getting into Pre-Med."

He blushes for a moment before realizing that she's just teasing. And then he blushes again for not realizing it earlier, and almost drops his mocha. Mercifully, she makes no comment, but her eyes are twinkling in amusement.

"Let's sit next to each other," she suggests. "Where do you think is a good spot?"

"A few rows back sounds good."

She nods.

"Exactly what I was thinking."

And he knows it's just the very beginning of a great friendship.


End file.
